"𝗛appy Birthday, Eden!"
She watched the round, grey eyes of her new friend glow under the single candle in the chocolate cupcake in front of her and smiled. Being in rehab meant two things—no drugs or alcohol, and definitely, no good food—Arabella must have bribed the chef.
So far, she'd only been cooped up in this facility for a few days, but it wasn't hard making nice with the people here, nor was it all that hard to forget about her cravings. Either there was something in the air, or the reality of her life, her boyfriend, and her family away from family just weighed heavier than any dose of fake happiness ever could.
"Well, don't just stare at it, silly—we're not supposed to have lighters in here!"
Arabella covered her mouth as she laughed, slipping the object into her bra. The two of them were sitting in the common area a few minutes after recreation time started.
Holding the flame steady with her palm, she blew gently.
Happy Birthday, Julian.
The more she watched the grey smoke climb higher into the oxygenated air, the steadier she felt. This was only the fourth birthday without him, but it seemed to be easier. She could sleep better. She ate better. The shared birthday was no longer something she considered a burden, but rather a gift. It was the only part of him that would never truly leave her.
But even still, she had her reservations about being in this place. She didn't want to spend their day together in the slammer, so when she arrived, she kicked and screamed and earned a day of solitary. She wanted nothing more than to be with Blaine and Maverick, at home, comfortable, and warm. Alas, she knew that in order to achieve her goals, she was going to have to be a good little prisoner and cooperate with the slush for food and the crazies for friends.
With Arabella by her side, however, she felt it was smoother to exist. The thought of her friends and family outside of these four walls came to her in breaths of air, rather than drops of water, choking her. She still, more than ever, believed she belonged elsewhere, but in fewer increments.
Here, she would learn individuality.
It'd be good for her.
"Thanks," she whispered, taking the candle out.
—that, too, she took and slipped into her bra.
"Of course—no one should spend their seventeenth in a hell hole like this, especially without cake."
"If they need rehabilitation, I s-suppose it's okay," Eden shrugged.
"Do you really need that?" she cocked an eyebrow at her.
"Not necessarily, b-but it will make my cousin feel b-better."
Arabella sighed loudly, "I have a feeling you can handle yourself on your own terms."
Eden twisted the cupcake around her tongue, licking off the outer circle of vanilla icing as she pondered the thought. She knew that her friend was probably correct in her debriefing—she survived as long as she did without Mav's help, but most of her knew that her impulsivity was the only thing that kept her alive, and if she let it continue, that very thing would get her killed.
It wasn't Arabella's fault that she had no clue what her past was like. That it had been filled with opioids since the day she lost her only friend at eleven—that she lived on the streets until she was thirteen where she found her spoiled cousin, all too obsessed with hacking the mafia. She had no clue what her rankings were; to her, she was another blue-eyed, blonde, bimbo.
She liked that she was a no-one in here, but she hated that everyone treated her like there was some silver spoon shoved up her ass when she's never once had the chance to taste what that's like.
"Much like you, I'm here b-because of addiction," she swallowed, "We ought to try to get b-better for the people who care about us, if not for ourselves."
"Blah, blah—sounds like a load of baloney."
Eden rolled her eyes and shook her head in a form of laughter.
Though a second later, the smile on her face faded, and she was reminded why she was here in the first place. An attendant rounded the corner; he looked to be heading toward the cafeteria, but as he turned his head and caught sight of the cupcake in her hand, he marched right for them.
"Attending, six-o-clock."
Her friend's head snapped, "Fuck!—I can't get caught again."
"You already have two strikes this week?"
"Yeah," she sighed, looking defeated.
Eden gave her a sorry look before standing up and walking toward the attending, saving her friend the trouble of the bitter and cold solitary cellar. She purposely bumped shoulders with him, flinging him to the side whilst she remained uprooted.
"Oops," she bit into the cake, "Didn't see you there."
"You little—"
He reached over and slapped the cupcake out of her hand. She barely watched it hit the ground before he wrapped a hand around her upper arm tightly and yanked her from the common room and in the direction of her bedroom. Realistically speaking, she could have this man over her shoulder, on the floor, neck snapped, and six feet under all without breaking a sweat, but they couldn't know who she was outside of this facility.
Being manhandled was just something she had to get used to.
As they reached the end of the hall, a second attending came into view. This one she knew—blonde hair and bright green eyes—a pal of hers, despite it being two or three days here, tops.
"Harold, what are you doing with patient ninety-seven?"
"Bringing her to her room, sir," he stood more upright, "She attacked me."
"I did no s-such thing," she whispered under her breath.
Attending number one squeezed her arm harder to try to manipulate her into appeasing him, but little did he know, she shot up drugs that hurt more than his puny grip.
"Give her to me," Attending number two demanded, pulling her anyway, "Go continue your rounds—we can't afford to have the rest of the residents unsupervised."
He gave her a sturdy look, but nodded and turned, heading elsewhere.
Eden, gracefully, picked up her feet and followed the attending she knew of in the direction of the girl's communal bathrooms (they had personal ones in their rooms; these are used for common room breaks). This was normal for them—usually around this time, when the sun dims just a bit outside, not apparent to the uncaring eye, he grabbed her from her spot.
Some of the others thought they were banging, but it was nothing like that.
"Get in!" he said aggressively, shoving her inside and following, playing the part.
"B-bite me!" she replied, also playing along.
It took three seconds for the door to be closed and locked, separating them from the listening ears of passing-by attendings and the watching eyes of the many cameras—this room was the only one that had none, and that was purely for lawsuit reasons.
"What do you have for me?" Eden asked politely.
"Nothing good, princess," he sighed, leaning against the sink.
"What's that s-supposed to mean?"
"Maverick didn't send any messages today."
The color in her face all but disappeared. Even though it hadn't been that long, her cousin never missed a day. He knew what hell she was going through in here, not pertaining to how she was being treated, which was well enough, so he never let her go without a day of reassurance.
"That's impossible."
"I'm afraid it's not."
Biting on the outside of her slightly overgrown nails, she chewed and thought of all the reasons why he wouldn't send anything. He had no other attachments besides herself—she knew that he wasn't the type to cling to anyone romantically, at least, not altruistically.
Sure, something could have happened to the gang, but he would tell her.
She paused. Gasped and stared into the mirror.
Unless something happened to him.
"Why did you b-bring me here?" she hesitated, speaking to her reflection, "If there's no message, then why am I in here?—I'm sure he'll send one tomorrow; you could have saved me this mindfuck."
"I never said there was no message."
She whipped, facing him, "You just—"
"I said there was no message from Maverick."
"Then who sent one?"
He pushed off the sink, "A boy named Blaine—said: It's begun."
Eden inhaled a large gust of air, swallowing it so quickly, it hurt. When she was in the hospital, on the last day, Maverick finally let her see him. Blaine had shared with her that her cousin was going to be talking to her through an attending, so she wouldn't be alone.
He promised her that if war broke out while she was in here, he would send a message—two words: it's begun.
"I-it's t-t-too s-s-soon!" she pushed out.
"There's a box of clothes in the second stall and some tools to help you get out."
"W-w-w-what?—n-no!"
The next thing she knew, his hands were on her shoulders, shaking her.
"You need to calm down," he said easily, "You're working yourself up and stuttering."
She blinked rapidly, shoving her emotions to the side. She knew that if this message had come from her people directly, then she wouldn't be acting like this; it was only the inconvenience of the situation that was stressing her out. She had to let it go.
So, nodding, she gathered her thoughts and left his grasp, entering the stall. It took her all of three minutes to slide into the all-black clothes prepared for her. Waist-holstering a screwdriver and knife, she kicked the door open and crossed her arms.
"What are these for?"
"The vent system has a few walls you'll need to undo to bypass."
"How long ago did you get the message?"
Attending number two grinned, watching her slowly ease back into her work mode. And honestly, she never felt better than she did right now, ready to get back to doing what she loved. In the back of her mind, she knew her cousin was going to freak at both her and Blaine for her involvement in the war, but he could suck it. At least she wasn't doping herself up.
"About fifteen minutes ago."
"Great," she turned, "I still have time."
She walked over to the ventilation system and canvassed the area. If she just used the toilet to host herself up to the stall wall, she could scour that, head to the bathroom window sill, yank the top off the vent and get in through that way.
Hmph.
Simple enough.
"Uh—Eden?" he spoke as she attempted to go into the stall.
"What?" she stepped out.
"I need you to make it believable that you escaped me."
"In what way?"
"I need you to hit me," he pocketed his hands.
"Oh," she approached him, "Why didn't you just s-say that?"
Winding up, she pulled her closed fist behind her and wailed it into the front of his face. He let out a grunt of discomfort and fell to the ground clutching his water spout of a nose.
"Jeez," he said in agony, "You don't know how to hold back, do you?"
"You didn't ask me to," she shrugged, "You told me to make it believable."
"Right."
Eden let a soft smile cross her cheeks as she knelt to the ground in front of him and grabbed his free hand. Shaking it gently before squeezing it, she thanked him for all he's done for her with her eyes and expression. She had never had someone be so unwaveringly kind to her, especially not with her condition, so having him around definitely made these few days bearable.
Having nothing left to say, she stood up and put her earlier plan into motion, sliding into the vents with ease. It turned out there were only two vents that needed disfiguring to get around; a piece of cake.
On her way out, she caught sight of Arabella; she was still in the beanbags, legs crossed and dangling in the air while she watched a video based on a forged history documentary. She wanted to reach out to her, to let her escape from this place with her, but she knew that her addiction journey was not yet through. She learned from Julian that a person should not be pushed to their limits just because they can be—they should not be given opportunities to repeat the cycle if they don't need to.
We'll meet again, Arie.
Crawling through the last few boxes of metal, she kicked the outside door open. The moment the thing clanged to the ground, the sirens blasted throughout the building. Scrambling at this point, she hopped out of the tunnel and started sprinting, still facing the facility.
In all honesty, she was going to miss this place—at least here, she wasn't ostracized.
Eden, knowing she needed to run faster, turned to face the main road on which she'd be escaping. Her lungs expanded with warm air at the same time she breathed in her shock.
Standing in front of her, lighting a cigarette, with his feet crossed at the ankles stood Emmet. His black hair blew under the hot sun as he glanced at her with an emotion she couldn't quite label.
"Took you long enough," he flicked his ash.
"Are you here to s-send me b-back?" she took cautious steps.
"No—I was the one who broke you out."
"Huh?"
"Who do you think disabled the alarm system for as long as it was?"
"Oh."
Now that she thought about it, the alarm not going off once she breached the bathroom vent was a little weird, considering the outside one was wired with them.
"Get in the car," he crushed the cig, "You're already late."
"Where are we going?" she asked, running to catch up with him.
Eden buckled her seatbelt and looked behind her, seeing a swarm of attendings start to run toward the car, bats out to take down her and her capture. Emmet seemed the least bit interested in their anger as he adjusted his rear-view mirror and switched gears.
As the tires squealed, he finally answered.
"I'm bringing you to my jet."
"Where are we flying to?"
"Not me, you—I have a son to take care of."
"Then where am I flying to?"
"Oregon," he sighed, "I'm counting on you to help take care of my other two."